The night air was filled with a hint of anticipation as Ivy Taylor stepped out of her boarded taxi onto the paved streets of Mayfair. Towering buildings loomed above her as far as her eyes could see; their grand appearances well-lit by the soft glow of street lamps. Ivy smoothed down the fabric of her midnight blue gown, its satin folds sparkling under the gentle radiance of the environment.

As Ivy went up the stairs of the grand house where the ball was being held, every single one of her heartbeats was with a mic of excitement and nervousness. With each heartbeat reminding her about the feeling of glamor in high society even if it was only for a night, she had escaped her dull and boring world.
The echo of laughter and music leaked out from the ballroom as Ivy entered, her eyes widening at the sight before her. The room was an array of color and movement, filled with elegantly dressed guests twirling across the dance floor in ways she had not seen before. Multiple chandeliers put a warm glow over the room, while the walls were decorated with extravagant embroidery portraying scenes of romance and adventure.


Ivy took a couple of deep breaths as she prepared herself for the evening ahead. Ivy being an illustrious poet and writer, came to this ball with the secondary purpose of finding inspiration for her writing and maybe even catching the attention of someone who could help further her career. She had no idea that fate had other plans waiting for her.
As Ivy made her way through the large crowd, she couldn’t help but feel like an outsider among the upper-class circles that surrounded her. Her upbringing had been far from privileged, her family having made their fortune through hard work and sheer determination rather than through centuries of inherited wealth.

Spotting a table piled high with champagne flutes, Ivy helped herself to a glass, the bubbles tickling her nose as she took a sip. She took a look around the ballroom, her observation lingering on the various masked faces that surrounded her. Who were these people, she wondered, and what secrets lay hidden behind their carefully crafted personas?
With the live band playing a sweet soothing melody, Ivy’s pondering was interrupted by the sound of a peculiar voice behind her.

“May I have this dance? A smooth, manly soft voice asked, sending a shiver down Ivy’s spine.


She turned around nervously to see a tall figure dressed in a tailored black suit; his facial features hidden by a fancy mask of polished silver.
Ivy, already nervous and wary, hesitated for a moment; her heart racing at the sight of the mysterious stranger before her for somehow, she felt she knew who he was.


What made her stand out from the crowd, and who was this man? She put her hand in his and let him guide her onto the dance floor while she remained silent and lost in contemplation.
Ivy felt the music carry her away as they danced, her body moving in perfect time with her unidentified partner. Peering at him from behind her mask, she attempted to get a sight of the man behind the shiny, silver mask.

Too soon their dance was ended, and Ivy could not bring herself to release her enigmatic partner's hands.

She spoke in the lowest of tones, embarrassed and shy, hardly able to say, "Thank you for the dance."

The enigmatic man acknowledged this with a shake of his head and a faint smile playing at the corners of his well-pouty lips. "It was entirely my pleasure," he said in a soothing, low voice.


Ivy was alone on the dance floor, her pulse thumping in her breast before he vanished into the crowd and she couldn't reply.

Why had he chosen to dance with her, and who was he?

Ivy, with all of her beauty, was filled with excitement as she thought about these topics. Her life would change in ways she could not have predicted when she met the mysterious stranger.


Ivy was absorbed in her feelings and thoughts amidst the lavish magnificence of the ballroom. There was something meaningful about their connection that she could not get rid of, and she sensed that their meeting on the dance floor was more than just a fortuitous encounter.
As she socialized with other guests, Ivy found herself stealing glances at every silver-masked face, searching for any sign of her mysterious dance partner. But he had disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind only memories of their dance.

Ivy was determined to know the truth, so she quietly questioned other people in the ballroom in an attempt to learn more about the man who was on her mind. However, no one appeared to be familiar with him, and Ivy's inquiry only produced more queries than responses.
Ivy chose to act alone at this time because she was only frustrated. She set out to investigate every inch of the ballroom for any hints that could reveal the name of her enigmatic suitor, determination blazing fiercely in her chest.

Ivy, in her search, stumbled upon an unpleasant sight. A white tall man referred to as Mr. W flanked by his goons, had cornered a man asking him questions, and had him beaten to a pulp. Ivy closed the door to the room she had slightly opened and continued her search disturbed.
Ivy proceeded to wander aimlessly in the ballroom, shaken by what she had seen, as the music and laughter faded into the background as she struggled with the mysteries of the evening.

Hours passed and just as Ivy was beginning to lose hope, she spotted a familiar figure standing near the entrance to the ballroom; “It is him” she said as her face lit up with excitement.
Ivy felt a flush of embarrassment as she took timid steps toward him as she was convinced that their meeting was far from coincidental and was by fate. we await what the night has in store for them.